A BLUR OF BLUE (A 'BLUE IS THE WARMEST COLOR' FANFIC)
by iSnarkaholic
Summary: You can't repeat the past...but can you out-run it?
1. Chapter 1

A BLUR OF BLUE

You can't repeat the past...but can you out-run it?

Pairing: Adele/Emma (Femslash)

Genre: Drama/Angst

Rating: "M"

Warning: Contains Spoilers!

For the record: I haven't seen the film (as of this writing it hasn't been released yet), so if any of the characters' likes/dislikes, etc. aren't 100% accurate, kindly take this into account.

Current Muse: "Goodbye" (performed by Terramara)

The story is told from Adele's POV, and begins ten months after the film's ending.

CHAPTER 1

"FAGGOT!"

The solitary word cracked like a whip through the still, early morning air of the Parc Montagne and I, jolted abruptly out of my brooding reverie, reflexively and angrily snapped my bowed head upward and then to my left - the direction from which the vicious insult had come, ready to hurl back one equally as rude.

But, as I shot my filthiest glare at the two scruffy teenage thugs sitting on the bench ten feet away from mine...

...silently daring them to call me something else...

...anything...

...I quickly realized that they weren't looking at me at all...but rather at someone all the way over on the far side of the lake where, by squinting my eyes, I could just make out the shape of a human form, heavily shrouded in mist, leaning against the broad trunk of an an ancient tree.

While no less annoyed that the hateful remark had been directed at that unsuspecting guy rather than at myself, I had more pressing issues on my mind at the moment; so I promptly dropped my chin back onto my chest and resumed gazing blankly at the tall take-out cup of tea (raspberry, with three sugars) between my hands; while fervently hoping for one thing only: to be left alone with my thoughts.

No such luck.

"What's the scrawny, limp-wristed butt slammer doing on that side of the lake?" Thug #1 wondered aloud. "How'd he even get in? Ever since the police found those four dead prostitutes over there-"

"In varying stages of decay," his friend added helpfully.

"Yeah, well, since then the whole area's been fenced off. No one goes there anymore...not since that city ordinance made it illegal," Thug #1 finished decisively.

"Who knows how he got in?" Thug #2 replied with a shrug. "The little fairy probably just flew over the fence. Anyway, since the area's deserted, that makes it the perfect spot to fuck his hundreds of boyfriends in seclusion. I'll bet he even likes to-"

The remainder of the insult was drowned out by the roar of a motor as an ancient produce truck rattled up the street and past the nearby park railing, causing the overhead branches of the elm tree behind me to shudder in its wake; the resulting solitary falling leaf that landed on my right shoulder distracting me momentarily from the highly offensive conversation over on my left.

Brushing the leaf off, I glanced up at the still opaque, yet steadily-lightening sky. It confirmed what the weather forecast I'd heard last night before finally sinking into a troubled sleep had promised: that it was going to be a beautiful day...for the rest of the world.

But not for me; because I hated summer.

I hated it with every fiber of my being.

As usual, I'd slept badly, awaking unrefreshed and frustrated way before five a.m.; and, after staring at the wall opposite my bed for nearly two hours while trying to will myself back into unconsciousness, I'd finally given up. Throwing on some clothes, I stumbled groggily out my front door and headed toward the park, stopping momentarily at Cafe 24 for a tea.

Ten minutes later I found myself sitting on this bench – just as I had every morning for the past two and a half weeks - enveloped in the dense, lingering fog and hoping that being out of my musty old townhouse apartment and in the open air would afford me some inspiration...

...to figure out how I was ever going to get through the day that lay ahead.

For the past nine months I'd had my class of thirty first grade students to keep me occupied, answering their endless questions during the day and planning their upcoming lessons well into the evenings...but now, during the seemingly endless months of June, July, and August, getting through every single hour of every day was an indescribable struggle.

And the summer had only just begun.

In order to avoid spending (all of) my time curled up in the fetal position on the floor of my (otherwise empty) apartment, alternately crying, praying, and begging, I tried hard to stay busy; and so far I had managed to do quite a lot:

Investing endless hours in studying complicated recipes, in countless gourmet cookbooks...definitely a step up from the low-rent Spaghetti Bolognese recipe I'd learned from my dad...

...following by long, frustrating sessions in my too-small kitchen, where, hunched over my temperamental old stove, I labored intently, attempting to perfect countless elaborate dishes...

...and then, reading seemingly-endless stacks of cinderblock-sized books on painting and sculpture - far into the night, while trying to force myself to develop more than just a passing, casual interest in fine art...

...followed by (badly) sketching almost every single item in my apartment...

...and then trying, as she had once urged, to cultivate my creative writing skills...

...all for hours on end...

...to show her that I was very, very sorry...

...for everything that I'd done...

...and that now I was trying...

...so incredibly hard...

...for _her_...

...but, in reality...for nothing. Because now it was too late...

...she was gone...

...and, because I had been - and always will be - such a complete screw-up, she's never coming back.

So now here I sat, rolling the half-empty cup between my palms, watching through its clear plastic wall as the deep-amber, raspberry-scented waves of its contents sloshed around in uneven, ever-diminishing circles. Finally, after the thousandth one had settled, I shook my head, trying (and failing) to clear it...

...and then - as always when unable to figure out what to do - I automatically reverted to my default setting: systematically reliving each and every mistake I had made with her, in vivid detail, while silently yet liberally berating myself for every single one of them...being far, far harsher on myself than the two creeps sitting ten feet away could ever be.

On the upside, my lengthy, self-inflicted tirade was successfully blocking out the crude, non-stop conversation that was taking place over on the next bench, until I caught one of the thugs remark,

"...sick, twisted freak! Lucky for him I'm not on his side of the lake, because I'd snap the biggest branch off that tree and shove it right up his a-"

"Marc," his friend interrupted suddenly, holding up one hand and squinting in the direction of the lake's opposite shore, "that's not a guy...it's a girl."

This declaration caught Marc off balance...but only for a moment, before he replied, "What? Are you sure?"

"I...think so," his friend replied tentatively.

Looking doubtful, Marc turned in that direction, peered intently, and then, after nearly half a minute had elapsed, he declared, "It's hard to tell...but if it IS female, then it's a DYKE...but only until I shove something huge up her twat...and you can bet that it won't be a tree branch!"

My eyes, which which had been staring at him in anger, now narrowed into slits of rage as I sat, seething, wishing he'd look over in my direction and hastily trying to decide which of the multiple scathing replies in my head to hurl first. Soon I'd settled on what seemed to be the best one, but before I could deliver it, the bells in the church on the next block chimed seven...

...and uncurling himself from his slumped position, Marc, with an audible groan, got up from the bench...

...and, suddenly/fully aware of his hulking size, I quickly lost my nerve.

"Shit," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, "time to sober up."

"Ha! Famous last words!"

"Shut up, Henri!"

"You're only fooling yourself." his friend taunted.

"No," Marc answered, with some measure of (temporary) conviction, "I mean it this time. I've gotta stop staying out all night."

"Yeah, well, you say that every morning."

Marc shrugged.

"Whatever...I have to be at work by nine."

"Blow it off, like you usually do."

"Can't. The boss said if I'm late again, that's it."

"Well, then, will I see you at the billiard hall tonight?" Henri asked.

"Maybe."

Twisting sideways, I watched as they both ambled - somewhat unsteadily - up the path and then through the park gate where, after exchanging a few words that I couldn't hear, they parted...

...and I settled back into my seat and, now weary of self-flagellation, sat taking in my surroundings. Soon finding nothing of interest nearby to focus my attention on, I shifted my glance back across the lake...to its opposite shore.

The heavy blanket of early morning mist had only begun to dissipate so, like those obnoxious apes I, too, found it impossible to tell if the light-haired person who still stood there, slouching against the huge tree and staring at the ground, was male or female.

Seconds later, as I sat watching, their gaze shift upward...

...across the lake, and over in my general direction...

...and suddenly, whoever it was flinched sharply, seemingly startled at having been spotted, and a moment later turned away quickly...

...and then, with a flash of blue jacket, he or she was gone...

...and I got up, stretched, and absently shuffled off toward home.

My small apartment had never seemed so huge...

...or so empty...

...not of furnishings, but of life.

Even though I'd already been awake for nearly three hours, I didn't feel much like breakfast, but in the end habit won out and I had scrambled eggs and toast.

In my book, skipping meals is never a good idea.

I managed to kill another thirty minutes or so by washing the dishes and tidying the kitchen, and then, with no idea what to do next, I wandered into the living room and over to its only good piece of furniture: my antique desk. Sitting down, I turned my computer on, pulled up the local news site and began scrolling mechanically, listlessly, through the stories; reading everything yet comprehending nothing.

All too soon, I reached the bottom of the page.

At a loss for what to do next, I began to mindlessly surf the web...

...and, not encountering anything of real interest, eventually found myself indulging in my favorite time-waster: watching endless, funny cat videos on Yoo Toob...

...only I didn't feel at all like laughing.

Finally, curiously, I stretched in my seat and, pausing the video I was currently watching, I glanced over at the clock...

...and suddenly snapped to my senses.

What the hell was I doing?

Three hours wasted.

Three hours of my life that I could never get back...not that I'd ever want them. Still, months ago, as I'd walked away from the art gallery – and from her – forever, I'd made a solemn, anguished promise to myself: that my days of acting childish and irresponsible were over.

Well aware that I'd been failing at this resolve...on an almost daily basis...I blushed; deeply ashamed.

What was wrong with me?

No need to even ask that question, I reminded myself...because the answer was already glaringly apparent.

Nonetheless, I decided, even though it's obviously a total lost cause, today I should at least try to do something grown-up - if not productive - with my time.

So, with a sigh...

...and with Herculean effort...

...and with a final, wistful glance at the still-frozen screen of Fifi: The Break-dancing Feline, I clicked away, and over to a far more serious/far less entertaining site: Your Academic World Network (Y.A.W.N.).

Being an educator, I really should have taken more of an interest in the news stories that were in front of me but, despite my (half-hearted) efforts, my mind still wandered, incessantly and broadly, unable to focus on any of them as I scrolled down the page...

...until, near the very bottom, one caught my eye: the Auguste Renaud Exhibit, which was taking place in two weeks over at the Musee de Bellard.

It was going to be a three day show, featuring his oil paintings...

...of nudes...

...and, suddenly, all the memories of Emma which I'd managed to temporarily relegate to the back of my mind came hurtling to its forefront...

...and seconds later I found myself, hands shaking, frantically clicking away from the YAWN website...

...and over to Face Book.

As my page came up, and leaning forward with heart hammering, I moved the curser over to her name, the fourth one on the list...

...but then hesitated...

...because, I reminded myself, I had stopped stalking her months ago.

I used to do it, multiple times per day, looking at each new photo of her new family that she'd posted, while feeling yet another harpoon-like stab of agony slam through my heart. Still, I'd sit there and stare...unable to look away from her captivating smile, and from her cerulean blue eyes - the ones that had always floored me...

...until, unable to ignore the fact that the joy I saw in them was no longer because of me, the images on the screen would dissolve before my own eyes in a blur of tears...

...and, once again, I'd lower my face onto the desk and bawl.

Now, still wavering, I shifted my gaze downward, staring at the faint but unmistakeable water marks that liberally streaked the dark mahogany surface, and feeling more than a little guilty at the damage. This desk had been my grandfather's...and last year, before he had died he'd given it to me...and I had promised him that I'd always take the very best care of it...and of course I had failed...

...because I can't do anything right.

Well then, since that's the case, I reasoned (finger still hovering), why bother even trying anymore?

Come on.

Do it.

Just one little click.

It would be so easy, and I would now have a way to kill the next few hours - as well as myself...just a little bit more.

Just this once.

Do it.

One last time.

And then, never again.

I promise.

But as compelling as the urge was, I refrained; remembering my earlier self-inflicted abuse at the park.

I had already punished myself enough for one day.

Reinforcing my resolve, I switched the computer off, got up from the desk, and, with a sigh, wandered back across the room.

Over to my sofa.

Slumping back into its overstuffed cushions I sat, motionless, staring at the opposite wall and listening to the steady, non-stop cadence of the clock on the mantle above my empty fireplace; witnessing as moment after moment limped slowly, painfully forward; each one - that should have approached me so full of promise - cruelly arriving empty-handed before retreating, one by one, into my increasingly-meaningless past...

...until finally, somehow, I fell sideways and fell asleep.

X

With a jolt, I opened my eyes to the late afternoon sun that filtered through the window behind me, throwing long, sad shadows across the apartment floor. Hauling myself up into a seated position, I rubbed my stiff neck, and then glanced at my watch.

Six thirty-seven.

The day was essentially over...with absolutely nothing of value to show for it.

Well, I consoled myself as I stumbled toward the kitchen, at least another empty afternoon was behind me.

Since I had missed lunch, I (over)compensated with a huge serving of last night's leftover stroganoff, and then knocked off the carton of lemon sorbet that I'd found in the freezer.

Dinner finished, and at a complete loss for what to do next, I returned to my spot on couch, where I reached for the remote...

...but, after a moment's hesitation, tossed it back onto the coffee table.

I needed to think.

I spent the next three hours trying to do just that, and at ten-fifteen I decided to call it a night...not because of my (extreme) exhaustion, but because I'd finally, actually accomplished something that day: I'd made plans for the next.

A change of scenery...a day trip, by bus, to the seaside would provide me with a temporary yet desperately-needed distraction. I didn't have any interest in actually going swimming, but it occurred to me that a walk in the surf, in the sunshine, might actually grant me some clarity...

...and, with a rare, elated sense of accomplishment, and a smile, and actually looking forward to something for the first time in a very long time, I fell asleep ...

...and, of course, awoke to pouring rain.

Since I'd spent so much time planning this trip **and** had no other ideas on how to successfully waste the next sixteen hours, I decided to go through with it anyway...

…so thirty minutes later, dressed in baggy khaki shorts, a T-shirt, and sneakers I grabbed my old school backpack from its hook on inside of the closet door and headed for the fridge.

I hadn't been able to find my umbrella, so I wrapped my prosciutto sandwich, bag of cheese straws, and box of butter cookies in a trash bag to keep them dry before storing them in my backpack. To this I added two liter-sized bottles of water.

As an afterthought, I stopped back at the closet and, after rummaging through it for a minute, clapped on a well-worn baseball cap.

On my way out, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror by my front door, and smiled wryly.

I looked like I was still in high school; and in a way I really wish I still was...

...because then I would at least have an (admittedly lame) excuse for my incurable, crippling immaturity.

Ignoring the rumble of thunder that came from somewhere over on my left, I walked out my front door...

...and into the rain.

Mercifully, the nearest bus stop was located on my block, only three doors down from my own, and less than five minutes later - and only slightly damp - I had settled into the #507, about halfway back where, for want of anything better to do, I was reading the graffiti that liberally covered the back of the seat ahead of mine.

Soon finding none of the scribblings to have any literary merit, I then turned my attention to the left and sat watching the endless procession of raindrops that were rolling down the glass pane until, suddenly, the bus came to an abrupt stop...

...but not at an intersection. Besides, I realized, we had only traveled two blocks.

What was going on?

I soon found out.

Looking forward, through bus's front window I saw, about twenty feet ahead and just past the the road works barricades that lined both sides of the street, a crew of four construction workers trying to move a bulldozer from one side of the narrow street to other. Apparently, the engine had stalled out in the middle and the driver was having trouble getting it started again.

Leaning back, I sat watching, barely interested and wondering how long we'd be stuck here, as I listened to the incessant tap of rain on the roof of the bus...

...until the relative silence was suddenly and loudly punctuated by the sound of fists pounding on its closed door.

Looking highly annoyed, the bus driver opened it...

...and my already-low heart sank even further when I saw who ascended the steps: the two knuckle-dragging creeps from the park.

Great.

Just what I need.

"Fucking rain," Marc announced, to everyone in general.

As water ran in rivulets off his scuffed leather jacket, he shook the black, greasy-wet hair out of his eyes and, after shoving his bus pass within an inch of the driver's nose, retracted it just as quickly and then headed down the aisle...

...but stopped abruptly.

Pointing at the outfit of a female passenger four seats up from me, he remarked, "Wow, Henri, the Salvation Army really has a nice selection these days!"

Henri replied with a snort.

Assholes.

As they approached I, not wanting to become their next target, slumped down in my seat and looked at the floor...

...breathing a silent sigh of relief as they walked past me...

...but a second later I was silently yet lavishly cursing under my breath...

...because even though the bus was nearly empty, they had decided on the seats that were directly behind mine...

...and, as they sat down, one of them belched loudly and then laughed.

Fuck.

It was way too early for this.

They, however, obviously believed otherwise...

...because in less than a minute Marc was bragging, in explicit/excruciating detail, about some girl he had (allegedly) shagged the night before...

...a lengthy tale...

...until finally, as I rolled my eyes, fervently wishing that he'd get to the end of his crude (and no doubt utterly fictitious) narrative, he stopped abruptly and exclaimed, "Hey look! The dyke is back!"

With a rush of indignation I, flushing angrily, immediately and reflexively turned in my seat, ready to confront him...

...only to see him pointing - and the two of them looking - not at me, but out their window...

...toward the park.

Quickly, I settled back into my own seat and then, mildly curious, I looked out my own rain-streaked window of the still-immobile bus...

...squinting past the wrought-iron park railings...

...down the grassy slope ...

...and across the lake...

...to its far side...

...where sitting, with back leaning against the same tree and elbows on knees, was the person I'd noticed yesterday...

...huddled inside the same blue jacket, which I could see - even from where I sat - was drenched with rain.

Why would anyone (except an idiot like me) want to be outside in this weather?

X

The beach sucked.

Thanks to the unseasonably cold temperature, the unrelenting rain, and the unwelcome surprise wave that flattened me from behind as I waded knee-deep in the surf, I arrived home that evening with teeth chattering and drenched from head to toe; freezing, clammy, and utterly miserable.

Ignoring my growling stomach, I (uncharacteristically) passed right by the kitchen and made a beeline for the bathroom.

While wrestling my way out of my soggy, uncooperative clothes, I listened with growing anticipation to the gushing hot water that was loudly and rapidly filling the bathtub behind me until, finally naked at last, I climbed in gratefully and then lay back and closed my eyes...

...and then, far too tired to even attempt to resist the urge, I proceeded to indulge in my (second) favorite pastime: feeling sorry for myself.

"Why me?" I asked, suddenly and loudly, listening as my voice reverberated repeatedly off the faded tile walls.

I liked the sound.

I said it again...

...thinking with satisfaction that its hollow tone perfectly captured the essence of the utter emptiness of my existence...

...and, needing no further encouragement than that, I launched into the following, lengthy soliloquy:

"All I wanted was one pleasant day...just ONE! A few hours where I could forget the completely fucked-up tragedy that is my life! That's all! Is that too much to ask?!" (I didn't bother pausing to listen for an answer; I was on a roll.) "That's ALL I wanted...but did I get it? Noooo! No fucking way did I get it...because God forbid I should have even ONE MORE tiny bit of enjoyment before I die!

"Just a little sunshine is all I asked for...and what did I get instead?

"An iron gray sky!

"Above a steel gray sea!

"It's summer, for God's sake!

"The weather should be warm...

"...and the sky should be blue...

"...and the _water_ should be blue...

"...and the _jacket_ should be blue...

"...and the...

"...and...

"...the..."

And I sat up with a jolt.

Disregarding the wide sheet of bathwater that had just shattered against the well-worn checkerboard tiles of my bathroom floor, I sat, elbows on knees and head in hands...stunned.

While at the beach, my mind had been every bit as foggy as the sky that had surrounded me, here, in my tiny bathroom, I'd suddenly had a momentary burst of (possible) insight...

...but...it couldn't be!

Could it?

I quickly dismissed the thought. After all, lots of people have blue jackets...and blonde hair. Besides, what the hell would she be doing over there? All the way over on the other side of the lake; the area where, less than a year ago, four women had been brutally killed?

No.

It couldn't be.

Unless...?

Seconds later, I shook my head.

The day's exertions had left me delirious. Besides, I reasoned, there was no way it could have been her because, after all, I'd never _ever_ seen her in this neighborhood...

...or even in this city.

Quickly dismissing the idea for the second time, I drained the water from the tub, then stood up and, turning the shower on...

...turned my attention to washing the sea out of my hair.

Still, try as I might, I couldn't shake the idea completely. It lingered, hanging with infuriating persistence onto the outer edges of my consciousness until, finally, I realized that it wasn't going to go away on its own.

I had to prove to myself that I was wrong.

And there was only one way to do that: tomorrow, rain or shine, I was going to be back on my park bench...looking across to the far side of the lake.

Now thoroughly scrubbed, conditioned, brushed, and smelling like coconuts instead of salt water, I sat huddled inside my white terrycloth bathrobe on the upholstered seat of my apartment's huge front bay window; with my knees drawn up under my chin, and my right cheek resting against the glass; staring out at the colorful, shimmering patterns the street lamps and illuminated store signs were throwing onto the wet pavement in front of my townhouse...

...while a single question burned in my mind: how had I even come up with this idea...and why was it so persistent?

(Okay, maybe that was two questions.)

Well, at any rate I was thrilled to have something new and interesting to occupy my mind...even though at the back of it I realized that I was only desperately clutching at straws...where none actually existed.

Nonetheless, I spent the next ten minutes wracking my brain; trying to make at least some sense of it. I'd been sitting on that bench every single morning for the past two and a half weeks...so, during that time, had there ever been anyone over on the other side of lake?

I wrestled with the question valiantly but, finally, I shook my head, realizing that it was an impossible one for me to answer since, during at least 98% of the time I'd spent at the park, my attention had been turned completely inward.

However, less than a minute later - and without really knowing how I got there - I found myself sitting at my computer...

...and, wondering if she and her girlfriend were now living anywhere near here, I reached for the mouse...

...but I quickly stood up.

Bad idea...for so many reasons. Besides, I was no longer able to ignore my stomach's incessant demands, so I hurried to the kitchen where, despite my (pointless) nervous excitement at what the next morning might bring, I somehow managed to devour half a pound cake before heading off to bed.

X

I awoke around five-thirty and, rolling onto my left side, looked, through heavy-lidded eyes, out the window.

Still too early - and too dark - to tell what kind of morning it was going to be...

...but either way I knew how – and where - I was going to spend it.

Stopping only to take a fast shower and dress, I was soon rushing out the front door...

...running down the front steps...

...and sprinting down the street...

...hurtling straight toward the park...

...but suddenly skidding to a halt in front of Cafe 24.

I'm a creature of habit.

"Bon jour, Mademoiselle; a large raspberry, with three sugars?" asked the smiling, middle-aged lady behind the counter.

As I said, I'm a creature of habit.

I nodded, and in less than five minutes I was, with full cup in hand, once again rushing toward the park.

Tearing through its front gates - and now completely winded - I stumbled over to my usual bench, flung myself onto it and, quickly setting the cup aside (my mind definitely not on tea), I peered across the lake, toward the ancient, currently-invisible oak tree...

...and, squinting intently into the dense wall of fog...

...and with heart still hammering...

...I waited.

For nearly an hour.

Until, gradually, the haze began to lift...

...and, finally, the devastating reality set in.

She wasn't there.

And now I knew, beyond a doubt, that she wasn't going to be...ever.

I had been wrong...about all of it.

The entire idea had been an absolute delusion, not to mention a complete waste of my (already scarce) emotional resources...

...and now, somehow, I had to come to terms with the fact that my overactive imagination, which I'd tried so hard as a writer to cultivate, had brutally betrayed me.

With a sigh of disappointment, I got to my feet.

It was time to leave.

Seconds later, lifting my eyes from the trash can where I'd just thrown my still-full cup of tea, I cast a final, defeated, parting glance across the lake.

Even though more than half of the early morning's mist still remained, I now had a relatively clear view of the other side...

...and it was easy to see that there was No One under the huge tree...

...and that the area surrounding it was completely deserted...

...except for the guy in the baggy trench coat, sitting on the far bank's only bench, reading...

...who suddenly, inexplicably, ducked behind his open newspaper...

...and pulled his blue cap lower over his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

RATING: "M"

CURRENT MUSE: 'Die Without You', by P.M. Dawn (One of the most beautiful songs ever written)

CHAPTER 2

Too devastated to face any more disappointment, I avoided the park the next morning...

...and the next...

...and the next, as well...

...but finally, on the fourth day, while (grudgingly) admitting that it's unhealthy – both physically and mentally - to hole up in one's apartment for weeks on end, I forced myself out the front door...

...and ten minutes later - tea in hand - I was back on my usual bench, contemplating how the pre-dawn fog, lit only by a single distant lamp post, was such a sadly ironic metaphor for the current landscape of my mind: certainly desolate, obviously un-chartable, and definitely un-navigable.

Well, okay, I was out of the house...so now what?

Swinging my legs, and kicking rhythmically at the lush grass under the soles of my boat shoes, I wracked my brain for an answer but unfortunately, despite my best efforts, absolutely nothing suggested itself.

One thing, however, was certain: I now understood that there was zero chance of seeing Emma here.

Not only Emma, it turned out, but anyone else, either. Aside from myself, the park was absolutely deserted...and so un-nervingly silent that before long I actually found myself wishing for those creeps Marc and Henri to show up, because at least then I could unleash some of my huge reserves of pent-up anxiety on loathing their presence.

Wait a minute...what kind of insanity is _that?!_

No! I corrected myself sternly. It's far better to be alone, than to have those bullies here, verbally beating you up...

...because you certainly don't need any help with that!

After all, compared to your own black belt in self-torment, they're only rank amateurs!

But still, I thought, if only they were here, then I'll bet I would be able to-

"Damn it, Adele!" I cursed aloud – and loudly – now furious with myself.

"What the hell are you saying..._and doing? _ You need to pull yourself together...right now! For once in your life - just ONCE - stop acting so disgustingly pathetic and instead try to focus on...well, on anything!"

But what?

Once again, I sat turning this problem over (and over) in my mind, but try as I might I couldn't come up with a single constructive thing to do...or even to think about; and as I just mentioned,

my surroundings were completely deserted; and so, with no inspiration nearby, I turned my attention back toward myself...

...or, more precisely, to my hands...

...toward the only thing that was currently available for contemplation: my raspberry tea.

Determined to try my hardest to appreciate it – because it really was my favorite – I held the tall, nearly-full plastic cup up in front of my face and, swirling the contents around, observed its color (as best I could in the gloom); and then, after taking a deep sniff I lifted it to my lips, to take a small, deliberate, thoughtful sip - the way people do at wine tastings...

...planning to evaluate it carefully, and then describe it elaborately...

...but seconds later, found myself staring at the bottom of an empty cup...because, out of habit, I'd gulped the whole thing down instead.

With a sigh of exasperation, I turned in my seat and, taking careful aim, I flung the cup forward...

...and of course missed the trash can completely.

I sat staring at where it now lay on the grass...at least four feet away from its intended target, and then, with a shrug, I turned away dismissively.

I'd dispose of it properly later.

Having just hastily (and stupidly) ruined my only chance at any sort of "entertainment", I (correctly) concluded that there was nothing left in the area to contemplate but the weather – and so, sliding down until my butt was at very edge of the bench, I leaned my neck against the backrest's upper edge, and turned my face upward...

...toward the sky.

I don't remember how long I sat there, gazing passively at the vast, blank slate of lingering dark blue that stretched out on both my left and my right for as far as the eye could see; but eventually I noticed that, in front of me, it seemed to be slightly lighter now, way out at its farthest edge...

...and, tilting my head downward, I looked - expectantly - across to the other side of lake, where, unmistakeably, dawn was breaking...

...and, sitting just as motionless as the perfect stillness of my surroundings..

...I watched, in suddenly-eager anticipation...

...and in total silence...

...until less than a minute later the dense, distant, mist-shrouded stand of trees suddenly caught fire, as a million points of light burst through their branches...

...and the day began.

It was so breathtakingly stunning that I completely forgot - for the moment anyway – all about the cruel reality of my life, as I sat staring, so incredibly grateful to finally have something to appreciate...not to mention something of such aching beauty. After all, there hadn't been much beauty in my life anymore, not since...well, not since I could remember.

As I watched from my own shore, the resplendent rays of newly-emerged morning light began cascading from the distant tree branches and spilling onto the ground in front of them, where they twined themselves together into a unified whole...

...which crept slowly, yet steadily down the far bank; until, after only a moment's hesitation, it tentatively rolled forward, into the lake itself, gradually unfurling a carpet of pure gold across the water...

...right in my direction...

...but, suddenly, my sense of awe was interrupted...as it occurred to me that the dawn must have had broken here before, on most other mornings – and in exactly the same way...

...but I'd wasted every one of them...

...because I had been far too busy hating my life - and myself - to pay any attention.

With effort, I pushed that realization back into the far recesses of my mind.

Within minutes the wide, illuminated path had reached my side of the lake shore, and after ascending gracefully - yet decisively - from the water, it continued forward...

...advancing slowly, yet steadily, up the grassy slope...

...straight toward my bench...

...while I sat watching, nearly breathless with anticipation, and positively aching to be drawn into its warm, desperately-needed embrace...

...which would be my first – of any kind...or from anyone – in many a month.

But then, suddenly, and only inches from the tips of my shoes...

...the glowing swath of promised solace came to a complete, inexplicable stop.

Although this seemed odd to me, I waited, patiently, for what must have been several minutes...

...but it still hadn't moved forward in the least.

Not understanding this at all, I lifted my head...

...to see it lying there, like an illuminated road, stretching out before me - in the most inviting way...

...and, looking forward, along its entire length...

...my eyes traced its wide, glowing path of color all the way back across the lake, back to its source...

...from which it continued to emanate, radiating in numerous, intricate shafts between trunks and limbs, like so many outstretched arms, reaching out to draw me into their passionately longed-for embrace.

One that I needed...so, so badly.

So why, then, was it refusing to move forward...and to wrap itself around my tired, aching, defeated self?

Did the sun hate me, too...just like the rest of the world did?

And every bit as much?

Finding no answer, I continued to stare – directly yet blankly - into the dawn, but now feeling both hurt and confused, until, unexpectedly, I saw a momentary flash of even brighter gold at its very center...

...and then, over to one side, a dark patch shifted...oddly.

One of the trees seemed to be...moving.

No; it had to be a trick of the light, I decided dismissively...

...but only seconds later, it happened again.

No, I thought, just an optical illusion...

...but, if that were the case, then why was it moving...sideways?

And, if it WAS a trick of light, then wouldn't ALL of the OTHER trees be moving as wel-

My attempted analysis was interrupted, abruptly, as I saw it happen a third time...

...however, almost immediately the motion halted and, once again, I thought I had been mistaken...

...until only a moment later, near the early summer morning's radiant center, there was a sudden, massive eclipse, as a dark, towering shape moved in front of it...

...and then, as I sat watching, utterly stunned...

...Emma, taking a tentative step forward, emerged from the stand of trees...

...and I almost fell off my bench.

Convinced that - due to my despair and loneliness - I was now hallucinating..._severely_...I quickly looked away, and then, after a deliberate wait of several seconds - and expecting to see the far bank empty once again - I turned back...

...because what I had just seen couldn't be happening!

But, somehow, and to my complete astonishment, it _had _happened...

...and was _still_ happening...

...because there was Emma, _still_, now standing right next to the ancient oak tree...

...leaning against it sideways, and looking at the ground.

"No, Adele..._NO!"_ my mind screamed. "You're finally starting to crack! This non-stop stress and anguish that's been tormenting you for so long now has now escalated to the point where you're so distraught that you're wishing she was there...and wishing so hard that now you actually think you see her...

"...but you don't!

"There's no way you're seeing this...and I can prove it! Last night, you wished so hard to see her here - where she's never been before - and now, only a day later, she just suddenly shows up...in the exact same spot?

"Impossible!

"After all, it's Sunrise...the light over there is so bright that you only _think_ you see the outline of a human shape, when actually, there's no one there at al-"

It moved again.

"Oh, uh, well, okay...maybe someone actually is over there, but it's only someone that that you _think_looks like Emma, when it's really someone els-"

At that moment, she glanced up once again...

...and I clearly recognized her unforgettable face...

...and my heart suddenly flooded with a rush of hope...

...which dissipated, only seconds later, in a most jarring way...

...when, upon seeing me staring back at her, the expression on her face changed...from a blank slate to one of deep hurt...and she quickly looked down again...

...and didn't move...even though I continued to stare at her...

...waiting.

Two things were now painfully obvious: she didn't want to look at me...

...and I couldn't take my eyes off her.

I _couldn't..._

...and that was because I wanted –no, _needed_ – for her to look up again! Still convinced that I was hallucinating, I needed more assurance...to know that she really was there!

But if she really _was_ there, she definitely didn't want to raise her head and look into my eyes.

So...what should I do now?

Suddenly, I felt an unexpected – yet welcome - surge of warmth, in the entire lower half of my body...not because of Emma...but because the sun - which had prostrated itself at feet for so long - had at last decided to proceed in its trajectory through the park; and, finally moving forward and upward, it threw a wide blanket of warm, liquid gold across my lap...

...which suddenly gave me an idea.

After a bit of frantic fumbling in the depths of my backpack, I found what I wanted...

...and, hastily putting my sunglasses on, I leaned far forward, elbows on knees, and head tilted in the direction of the ground...

...but with my concealed eyes surreptitiously looking upward, full of hope...

...and within seconds my plan paid off, and I saw her lift her head...

...and look straight at me.

And, with my heart in my throat, I waited.

Waited for a wave, a nod, or for any sign of encouragement whatsoever.

But there was none.

She just stood there, her face expressionless again, and absolutely still, looking across the lake...straight at me.

Well, I rationalized, while struggling to keep my steadily-growing anxiety under control, maybe the reason she's not responding is because she thinks I'm not looking...which means that if she made any gesture, I wouldn't notice.

That's certainly easy to fix.

With as much composure as I could muster, I sat up straight and, took my shades off. And then, while trying hard to keep my trembling body under control...I lifted my head...

...and looked straight at her...

...trying to convey, with my eyes alone, how badly I wanted her to respond to me.

And, a moment later, she did...

...but not in the way that I'd hoped.

Noticing that I was looking at her again, she immediately dropped her eyes...

...and then her head...

...and, now looking away from me, she took three very deliberate steps backward...

...back into the outermost edge of the forest...

...and immediately, I dropped my own head and stared at the ground...now biting my lower lip and trying my hardest not to cry...

...because the message she had just conveyed was absolutely clear.

If she wanted anything to do with me, then surely she would have given me some sign...no matter how slight.

But instead she now stood, motionless - and even farther away from me than before...on the opposite side of the lake.

She may as well have been on the opposite side of the sea.

But suddenly, even though she had rejected me (again), I wanted to talk to her.

Badly.

Staring down at my shoelaces, I realized that, even though I had absolutely no idea what to say to her, I did know one thing: that I had to say something.

But...how was I _ever_ going to get across to where she was?

At both its right and left edges, the lake devolved into swampy marshland - for as far as the eye could see - so I couldn't just walk around it...and I didn't even know where the back edge of the park was.

It could be well over a mile from where she stood.

There wasn't even a rowboat nearby that I could temporarily hijack.

And so, with no idea how to get over to the other side – to her - I continued staring at my feet, now frantically praying..._pleading_...for any sort of inspiration.

But none came...

...not from my own mind...

...nor from her...

...because a minute later, when I had summoned the courage to look up again, she was gone.

Jumping to my feet and shielding my eyes from the sun with both hands, I spent several minutes frantically scanning the far bank, hoping all the while that I was mistaken...

...but knowing all the while that she had left it...

...and me...

...and, finally sinking back onto my bench, I lowered my head into my hands...trying my hardest to ignore the icy glacier that had, despite the day's warmth, just erupted in my core. Now far too numb to be able to feel the sun, which had finally enveloped my body completely, I sat, staring at the ground and biting my lower lip...hard.

What just happened?

Had _anything?_

Or had I, in my ceaseless torment, only imagined it all? Was it nothing more than a two minute delusion that, due to my desperate loneliness, had forced its way through the the numerous, gaping lacerations of my broken heart?

But it had seemed so real...

_...so wasn't it?_

Or was I finally, completely, losing my mind?

No, somehow, I _knew _that I had seen her...

...but, still, how was that even possible? Why was she there...suddenly and inexplicably...the very next day after I'd fervently wished she was?

Since I had no answer to this, I seized onto the one thing that _did_ make sense: if she had been here, then she was now aware that I, too, came here...

...and, if she _did_ want to see me, then she'd come back to the park again...even if it was all the way over on her side of the lake.

Even though her actions had made it very clear that she didn't want to see me, I rejected this, because, I wanted – no...needed – to believe that maybe, somehow, she'd change her mind...

...and come back...

...to me.

And so, the next morning, I returned.

Early.

But, although I sat and waited - for three highly anxious hours - I didn't see her that day.

Or the next.

But, still clinging desperately to the hope that she might somehow come back, I returned the next day...

...and the next...

...until, finally, on the evening of the fifth day...during which I'd suffering through seven consecutive, agonizing hours on the bench, I gave up.

Because I just couldn't take it anymore.

Despite my repeated, long, desperate vigils, she hadn't returned, and I now had to face that fact...

...and the full implication of what it meant.

Falling forward onto my bed, I buried my face deeply in my pillow and let out a long, muffled, primal scream.

It gave me no relief whatsoever.

Rolling over onto my back, I lay staring, exhausted, up at my ceiling, realizing that I was too physically drained to think clearly...

...but still, unwisely, I continued to do so.

Had I really just imagined the whole thing after all? Was it just some desperately-hopeful, yet doomed, conjured-up mirage?

I shook my head.

"No, Adele," I replied aloud, "you know the true answer to that...and it's far, far worse: You know that five days ago, she _was_ there...

"...and she _saw_ you...

"...and she left _because_ of you...

"...and now, she's avoiding the park-no..._avoiding_ _YOU_ deliberately.

"And _nothing_ you could say or do will change that!"

Still, I had no idea how it could be possible that she had shown up...for the first time...a day after I'd wished it.

Well, whatever the case, I was now _very_ aware of one thing: that I wasn't going back to the park...ever again.

It hurt too much to sit there and wait - hour after agonizing hour – only to be utterly crushed - again and again.

After all, even if she did show up again (which was highly unlikely) she'd already made it very clear that she wanted nothing to do with me...

...and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it...except refuse to continue participating in my own mental self-destruction.

Utterly spent, I realized that I needed to stop dwelling on it – all of it - for the moment anyway, because having gotten almost zero sleep for the past five days, I was now way beyond exhausted.

But now, since I'd resolved never to go back there, I might actually be able to unwind enough get at least a few hours of rest, I thought. And then, in the morning, I'll be able to face my now certainly-empty future with a little more fortitude.

And, with a long, shaky sigh, I reached over to my bedside table and switched the lamp off.

Three hours later, I was still lying there, in exactly the same position, but now fighting back tears of equal parts frustration and desperation...

...because, try as I might, I couldn't fall sleep.

The reason: Even though I was sure I was doing the right thing, the finality with which I had made my decision to never return to the park was now torturing me.

What if I was wrong...about all of it?

What if she had just been too busy this past week to come back?

But, then again...what if she hadn't been?

No, I countered, it's much more likely that, because she saw you, she won't be going back there ever again.

But then again, what if-

"STOP IT, ADELE! JUST STOP IT!" I yelled, lying there, and now gasping from my exertions, as I tried to end this violent wrestling match with myself...

...but I couldn't.

However, despite all of my confusion, one thing was certain: I now knew that I was truly beginning to lose my mind...and that my exhaustion was only expediting the process.

But, if I lost my sanity, then I would have lost everything...

...and I couldn't allow that to happen..._I_ _COULDN'T!_

Somehow, I had to sleep tonight...even if only for a few hours...

...which left me only one alternative: I had to _make_ myself fall asleep.

But I knew of only one way to try to do that...

...and it scared the hell out of me.

Because I already knew how it was going to end.

But I also knew that if I didn't try, I'd end up in the hospital.

So, as much as I hated to admit it, there really was only one possible (though highly improbable) solution.

And, even though I was terrified at what was about to (not) happen, I knew that I had to try anyway...

...and so, rolling over onto my back, I reached under the covers, and then, after much hesitation...

...I finally lifted the front of my nightshirt...

...and slid my left hand into the top of my panties...

...where, due to fear, it lingered for a long moment, just under the waistband; but eventually – and with considerable, conscious effort - it sank completely inside them.

And then, slowly tilting my pelvis upward...

...I moved my fingers lower...

...and opened my legs.

Taking a ragged (yet hopeful) breath, I slid my hand down into the warm valley between my thighs; and then, moving my fingers slightly to left, I slid them upward, toward the top, where they sank easily between my outer lips...

...and I found the spot.

Fear of failing (yet again) had kept me from even attempting this for many long months...even though I had been fully aware of how badly I needed release...

...but this time, my initial efforts were actually rewarded with a (faint) response, as my clitoris (barely) acknowledged my touch...

...and, silently begging myself for a different, desperately-needed outcome this time, I began stroking the spot eagerly...

...but then, after one more tiny, barely-perceptible twitch of my nerve endings...

...there was nothing.

I felt nothing but complete numbness under my fingers.

Anxiety now rapidly escalating to fear, I tried to compensate, by pressing harder...

...and rubbing more vigorously...

...but there was no response whatsoever from my self-punishing body...

...and, less than a minute later, I stilled my hand.

As it emerged from my underpants, I tried to pull myself together - before trying again...because I couldn't fail at this...not tonight!

"Of course nothing is happening," I told myself, desperately trying to remain positive...despite all evidence to the contrary...

"...nothing is happening, Adele...because you're not really _trying!"_

After all, I reasoned, when you're planning to engage in 'self service', it's always best to think about something exciting first...because then you'll have less actual 'work' to do.

And, deciding to do just that, I closed my eyes; and then, even though it was painful, I deliberately looked back in time...

...back over my (many) sexual exploits with Emma, determined to find exactly the right one...

...and in less than a minute I had pulled up a memory of the most incredible turn-on I'd ever shared with her...one that had whipped me-no...whipped _**both**_ of us up into even more of an insane frenzy than our first time.

It had happened less than two weeks after we'd moved in together.

Emma had just been commissioned to paint a very large mural of a seascape, for the lobby of a local bank. Even though this was strictly a commercial account, both of us were absolutely thrilled...not only because the fee she'd negotiated was significantly higher than what she had expected, but also because the bank was one of the biggest in the city - which meant that her work was going to be seen by countless people...which could lead to all sorts of lucrative future projects.

But, as excited as Emma was, there was one problem: She wanted to work on the mural – not at night, as the bank officers had requested – but during the day, because the light would be much better.

She spent some time puzzling over what to do about this, but within a few days, she'd figured out a possible solution: since the painting was going to be executed on canvas - instead of directly on the plaster itself - then it would be possible to attach it to the wall _after_ it was finished, rather than before. And so, after a little 'back and forth' between herself and the bank's procurement department, she had made arrangements to complete the mural at home, rather than in the lobby; that way she could work on it during the day without being in the way during business hours.

Within a week, the large shipment of supplies she'd ordered had arrived, and she was ready to begin.

The huge, stretched canvas (three meters tall...and even wider), had been delivered to our home early that afternoon and, from where I sprawled lazily on the couch, I watched as three delivery guys maneuvered it (with difficulty) through our (thankfully high) front door opening, and into her studio.

As soon as they'd left, Emma walked over to where I lay and, leaning down, told me (in a very apologetic tone) that she was going to be insanely busy...for ages...and so, would I please take messages if anyone called...and bring her a sandwich at around six p.m.?

I agreed readily to both requests, and, after kissing my forehead - and with a final, apologetic glance - she turned away...

...and I watched as she disappeared through the doorway of her studio to get started.

From where I lay, I soon could see her again, dragging a very tall ladder across the room, and then over in front of the canvas...

...and then opening it...

...and then getting all of her paints, rollers, and brushes ready.

Once everything was set up, she disappeared from sight again, but soon came back into view...with her arms wrapped around an old, huge, much-used drop cloth.

Throwing it onto the floor, directly in front of the blank canvas, she bent over and started moving around, laying it out...

...while I, reflecting on how great it was that she'd landed this project, closed my eyes to take a much-deserved nap.

Less than a minute later, I opened them again.

Suddenly...and widely...

...because, not yet asleep, I'd heard Emma stumble...

...and then hit the floor with an audible 'whump'...

...and then, upon hearing her utter the loudest/longest/foulest consecutive string of curses that I've ever witnessed, I was up off the couch like a shot, and running into the studio at breakneck speed.

Within seconds I had correctly assessed the situation: while moving around bent over, setting up her drop cloth, she had accidentally backed right into the ladder...

...hard...

...causing it to teeter so wildly that it had knocked over the huge, full tray of paint that she'd set on top...

...which immediately came raining down...

...covering Emma - from her hair all the way down to her bare feet - in a shower of blue.

Without hesitation, I ran over to where she sat on the floor – with both blue hands on her blue face (and still cursing) – and, leaning down, I picked her up in my arms.

"Stop that...don't rub your eyes!" I yelled, staggering under her weight while hauling her, as quickly as possible, toward the bathroom.

With some difficulty, I maneuvered her through its door and then, crossing the room rapidly, I set her on her feet, and still fully dressed, into the bathtub and turned the shower on. As soon as the water heated up, I immediately moved her directly under the spray; and then, kicking my sneakers off, I quickly stepped in with her...

...because now she was - with her eyes shut tightly – leaning down and clawing at the lower area of the shower wall, blindly and frantically fumbling for the soap.

"No! Let me!" I insisted, quickly grabbing it with one hand, while standing her up straight/leaning her back against the shower wall with the other.

Finally realizing that she did, indeed, need me to help her, Emma stopped struggling...

...and I got to work.

In about a minute I had the paint off her face (thank God, none of it had actually gotten into her eyes). Cleaning her hair up took somewhat longer (blue on blue), but as soon as all of the paint was out of it, I turned my attention to her clothes. While doubtful that I'd ever get the stains out completely, I nonetheless rapidly soaped them up while they were still on her body (to get a head start), and then, after instructing her to raise her arms, I pulled her blue-splattered T-shirt over her head.

Throwing it onto the floor of the tub (to continue soaking), I picked the soap up again, and then - carefully and thoroughly – I washed Emma's bare chest and stomach...

...and then her arms...

...and then her back.

Turning her back around to face me, I moved her hands up onto my shoulders (so she could keep her balance), and then, kneeling down in front of her, I washed her blue-streaked feet...

...then unzipped her baggy, blue-stained soapy jeans, and quickly pushed them down to her ankles...

...but, as she stepped out of them, I froze.

Because of what I found under them...and only inches from my face.

With a single, ragged gasp, I quickly stood up straight...

...and then leaned far, far back...

...to fully appreciate what I saw. When it came to underpants, Emma always wore practical cotton ones...

...in black, gray or blue...

...but not today.

It must have been laundry day, because she was wearing a pair of mine...

...and as I stared at the drenched white silk...

...at the way it clung to her body...

...front, sides, and back...

...wetly hugging every inch of every curve of her magnificent stomach, hips, and ass...

...while also giving me a breathtaking, barely-veiled view of what was underneath...

...the sight affected me...so profoundly...

...and so completely...

...that I suddenly found my entire body shaking, and burning with an overwhelming white-hot desire, unlike anything I'd ever experienced before...

...or since...

...and, within seconds...

...and without even pausing to think...

...and with wild, uncontrollable tremors shooting, non-stop, down my legs...

...I wrapped my arms around Emma's body, and lifted her effortlessly - to my surprise as much as to hers - back out of the shower...

…and, immediately lowering her onto the bathroom floor, onto the wide throw rug by the edge of the tub...

...I had taken her...right then and there.

Well, actually, not _exactly_ at that _very_ moment...

...because, as I knelt next to her...

...my body still trembling, and now breathing raggedly...

...and watching my own hand as it caressed the soaking silk between her legs...

...while she lay staring up at me in stunned silence...wet, warm, and weak...

...I soon found myself wondering how much of the wetness under my fingers _**wasn't**_due to the shower spray...

...because, suddenly, something in her eyes changed...

...and there was no mistaking what I saw in them...

...and a moment later, her hands were on my shoulders...

...and within seconds, I found myself lying – suddenly shirtless - on my back on the rug, with her hovering over me. An instant later, her hands disappeared from view as, reaching toward my hips, and fumbling momentarily (and frantically) with my zipper...

...she yanked my shorts down to my knees...

...and then completely off me.

Grabbing onto the rug on both sides of my body, I shut my eyes tightly and lay there...waiting...breathless...

...nearly naked, and trembling in anticipation...

...but then...

...nothing.

Nothing whatsoever.

Still I waited, until nearly a full minute had passed...

...yet Emma hadn't moved...

...at all.

I opened my eyes.

Looking up in confusion, I saw her kneeling above me, motionless, and still looking down at me...

...but not into my eyes...

...and following her gaze, I soon found out why.

It was because she was staring, instead, at my hips...

...and _that_ was because I was wearing only one thing: the very same thing that she was wearing...

...and the sight of them clinging - so wetly and sheerly - to my body had, like me, worked her up into a surprisingly unexpected - and equally unbearable - frenzy.

As for me, the sight of her kneeling between my legs, in just her underpants...

...and, staring intently at - and through - their inviting translucence...

...while knowing exactly what was about to happen to me...

...because of what she was about to do to me...

...the mere thought of it made me so incredibly hot...

...that I felt a sudden, massive contraction between my legs, ripping through me with such force that my entire pelvis jerked up off the floor...

...and, almost simultaneously, a searing pain, along the entire length of my vagina, from my cervix, all the way down to its opening...

...as its walls began to expand, now throbbing rapidly...and positively aching for her touch.

In addition, I knew that if she-

My breathless anticipation was suddenly cut short...but I didn't mind in the least...

...because at that moment, I watched as Emma leaned forward...

...and reached forward...

...and then, suddenly, my own panties were down around my knees...

...and, knowing that there was no turning back now, my tremors of anticipation escalated rapidly...

...as my entire body began to shake uncontrollably.

Emma's right hand was a blur as it plunged downward, between my violently-convulsing thighs...

...and then upward...

...until, seconds later, she was entering me...

..and the instant she was deep inside me, I gasped loudly as the walls of my vagina, which were longing for-, no..._demanding_ her touch, now seized onto her fingers, with a force I had never known they were capable of...

...and, gasping raggedly, I reached down, and around to the back of her body...

...and, grabbing onto her slippery, silk-covered hips...

...I began sliding my hands over every inch of them...rapidly...

...my mind reeling, due to the way they felt under my palms...

...which was every bit as much of a turn-on as what was happening between my legs...

...but still, I wanted more.

Emma's usually-masterful fingers were now moving inside me with difficulty, because of my highly-aroused vagina's vice-like grip on them...

...but still, I knew that I was getting close...

...but not close enough.

I was so eager to orgasm that I didn't want to wait any longer...nor to try - as I usually did – to prolong this current stage of arousal...

...not even for another second...

...and, now so delirious that I barely knew where I was...or _who_ I was...only knowing that I desperately needed release – immediately - I did the only logical thing: With my hands still marveling at the undulating landscape of her wet, slippery backside...

...and with my vagina selfishly clamped down on her fingers...

...I shifted my eyes downward, down to Emma's stomach...

...to what she was wearing...

...and, immediately jerking my hands up to her shoulders...

...and with a loud gasp...

...I held on for dear life...

...as, not moving my eyes from the hottest sight I'd ever beheld, I let go of any and all resistance...

...and just lay back and let it happen...

...and, within seconds my body stilled momentarily...but then exploded in orgasm...

...not once, but three times.

The last one was so violent that I swear I thought I was about to die.

The bruises on Emma's shoulders didn't fade for more than a week.

Finally, after what felt like both an eternity and only a second, I fell, exhausted, back against the rug.

Now gasping for breath...and convinced that I'd never move again, let alone walk...I nevertheless (and to my great surprise) recovered in less than a minute.

And then, after gently moving Emma's lips from my neck...

...I eagerly – well, okay, _forcefully_ - rolled her over...

...onto her back.

I'll never forget the look of surprise in her eyes...

...or what she said next...

...or my response to it...

...because, even though she quickly pointed out that she had no more time for this...

...because she had such a tight deadline to meet...

...which meant that she had to get back to work...

...immediately...

...I had refused to let her get up.

Planting one hand against the front of her chest, and then leaning forward, until my face was only inches above hers, I looked down...

...directly into her eyes...

...and informed her – in a very, very serious tone of voice - that she wasn't going anywhere.

That no matter how busy she was, or how _badly_ she wanted to, she would not be moving from this spot.

Not until she had cum for me.

Three times...

...and just as hard.

Until then, she would not be getting up...for any reason whatsoever.

No matter how hard she begged...

...and no matter how long it took.

At that moment, she opened her mouth to speak again, but what she would have said is anybody's guess...

...because, not interested in hearing excuses, I shifted my weight, pinning her body under mine...

...letting her know - in no uncertain terms - that she had No Other Option.

It was nearly half a minute before she stopped struggling...

...but then, after a short, breathless wait, I knew that I'd made right move...because of the way she wrapped her arms around my back...

...and held on tightly.

Moving my hips to one side, I stole a momentary glance at her...

..at how as she lay under me, trembling violently...

...wearing next to nothing...

...and silently begging me with her eyes.

Emma's wet panties still clung flatly to her stomach, but soon to the back of my right hand instead, as it slid down inside them...

...and then, after a long, delicious, teasing pause from me, I listened with satisfaction to her low, anticipatory moan as, sinking my first two fingers between her outer lips, I then tilted my wrist, pressing them upward.

They met with only the slightest resistance and, within seconds, they were deep inside her...

...and, focusing intently, I began to move them...

...but, suddenly, my attention was diverted from the highly-enjoyable sensation of stroking her vagina's badly-swollen interior...

...because, sliding her hands off my my upper arms, she reached down, toward my knees...

...and, suddenly - and to my great surprise - I felt her dragging my panties back up.

The instant they were over my hips again, she began caressing my silk-covered backside, in random, wild patterns...in exactly the way I'd just done to hers...

...but it had happened so unexpectedly...and was occurring so sensually...that seconds later, my thighs were shaking...just as violently as hers were.

And, suddenly, I was afraid.

Afraid that I was going to cum again...

...and, immediately, I began struggling against it...

...because I couldn't let that happen...

...not now...

...because...now it was her turn!

But, as I knelt above her, resisting as hard as I could, my vagina – from my vulva all the way up to my cervix - started to throb again...

...and to ache again...

...badly...

...and, within seconds, my thighs started cramping up...tightly, painfully, and almost unbearably...

...greedily trying to force out one last orgasm...

...and then, despite my intentions – and definitely against my will - my body froze, completely, as, dismayed that I was ignoring Emma (even though my fingers were still - and stilled - deep inside her)...and now breathing raggedly and shallowly, I waited, motionless and helpless, for the final eruption.

Several unbearably-long minutes passed...

...but, much to my surprise/relief, it didn't happen...

...and, finally, my body gave up...

...although I swear I could feel a harsh, burning resentment in my thighs as their violent tremors diminished somewhat (but not completely)...and the pain in my vagina subsided to a dull, persistent twinge.

There wasn't going to be a fourth orgasm...

...because I was completely spent.

It was just as well.

Grateful that I had regained (some measure of) control over my body, I immediately turned my attention back to Emma.

Her hands, which were still sliding over my silk-covered backside hadn't stilled the entire time...

...and it was obvious why: somehow, she had an idea of what was happening to me; and, unselfishly, she was waiting...

...and trying to help me...

...and in that moment, I could not have loved her more.

Now, even more determined that she was entitled to the same extreme earth-shattering orgasms that she'd just inspired/brought out in me, I resumed stroking her vagina's interior...

...and the sounds she soon began making assured me that my focused efforts were, indeed, having the full desired effect.

In less than a minute she began pushing her hips - forward and upward - into my fingers, slowly and tentatively at first, but then with steadily-increasing frequency and velocity...

...and from the way she was now moving - and breathing - I knew that she was getting very, very close.

And so, leaning down and forward, I whispered that the sight of her, clad only in wet silk - and the way that I could see Every Single Thing that was happening inside them - was making me crazy...all over again...

...and, almost immediately, her hands left my hips...

...and grabbed onto my upper arms...

...and then...

...tilting her chin up to the ceiling...and with a moan which changed almost instantly to a long, extended squeal...

...Emma came.

Hard.

The instant she gave in to it, I threw myself forward and down...hitching an amazing, unforgettable ride on the countless, massive shock waves that were ripping with obscene force through her wildly-undulating body.

It seemed to go on forever (no complaints), but, eventually, they lessened in intensity...

...and, after nearly a minute more, they had subsided completely.

As she lay there gasping convulsively, I hugged her tightly, holding her close to me until her breathing evened out; and then I sat up, smiling down at her, and giving her a minute to recover..

...before we began Round Two.

But then, to my surprise, Emma committed a grievous error.

She tried to get up.

That was completely unacceptable...

...and I let her know it.

Immediately.

Ignoring her half-hearted 'protests' - I firmly pushed her shoulders back down onto the floor...

...and held them there...

...and then, as I looked down at her, sternly reminding her of her 'obligations'...

...while noting, with great satisfaction, that this time it only took ten seconds before she – like a good girl - stopped struggling...

...suddenly, she gasped, and her hips jerked upward sharply, and I knew that it was because she'd just felt a violent contraction, deep within her pelvis...

...and, suddenly, my her hands were on the back of my neck, and pulling me forward...

...and, losing my balance completely, I found myself back on top of her...

...and, as she pulled me even closer, I suddenly felt her hot breath on my throat as I, balancing myself on my knees again and reaching back inside her still-soaked panties, listened with satisfaction to her shaky moan of anticipation...as I entered her again...

...my fingers now feeling slipperiness of an entirely different kind (Emma leaks a lot when she cums).

I hooked the ends of my fingers.

Less than three minutes later I knew, from the way she was shaking, that she was close...

...and, so, I doubled my efforts.

Turning my face to hers, I looked deeply into her eyes and whispered...in my best husky/alluring voice, "Which feels better, Emma; what's wetly hugging your butt, or what's wetly stroking your-"

That did it.

With a sudden, massive jolt, and a deep gasp, her entire body stilled...

...but only for a second...

...and then her back arched...so forcefully that it flung her torso up against my own chest with an audible smack...

...and at that instant, her already-throbbing vaginal walls began grabbing onto my fingers tightly, and then releasing them - over and over - with surprising force, as her entire body began to quake...and she began to shriek.

It lasted nearly a minute.

As she lay under me, with her hands in my hair and gasping for breath, I heard her say my name.

Twice.

As I looked down into her face, I knew in advance exactly what she was going to say.

And I also knew what my answer was going to be.

Because there was only one correct answer.

"Adele...pl-please, no! No more! I..._can't!"_ she begged...struggling to sit up.

She was so weak that pinning her again was easy.

Within seconds, she had stopped squirming...

...but even though she was no longer struggling, she hadn't stopped pleading...now positively _begging_ me to stop...

...but I didn't.

Because, despite her protests, her eyes told a very different story.

One glance into them told me what I already suspected: that she didn't really want me to stop...

...but, instead, she wanted me to help-no..._make_ her have another orgasm..

...and that she was very aware that I knew it.

"Adele, please no! I c-can't!" she begged, trying to sit up, yet again...

...a claim that I ignored as I firmly pushed her shoulders back down onto the rug...

...and held them there, as I looked into her eyes...without speaking...but in a way that left no doubt as to what was about to happen to her...

...while making it equally clear that there was nothing she could do about it.

Any doubts that might have been lingering in the back of my mind, about what I was doing dissipated quickly...

...when, leaning back over her, I felt the way she flung her arms around my neck...

...and held onto me so tightly.

But, still, I waited...

...motionless...

...because I needed to be absolutely sure.

Seconds later, her arms tightened again, and then, with her cheek against mine...

...she nodded...

...and then, tilting her head back, and then forward...

...she kissed me.

I clearly felt the thrill of anticipation that shot through her entire body, as my hand slid back down, inside silky dampness...

...and, seconds later, up into velvety wetness.

Three fingers this time...

...and within seconds she was shoving her hips forward, thrusting against them with an unprecedented velocity...

...but less than two minutes later, it was obvious that a very different feeling had overtaken her...

...because, suddenly, her hands were pressing hard against front of my shoulders.

"Oh, God...oh no! Adele...n-no! I'm not...I can't!"

The way she said it left no doubt: She was afraid...

...very afraid...

of what was about to happen...

...because her body, which she had always been able to control – in every situation - had suddenly, forcefully, and fully taken her hostage. Ignoring her commands, it had turned on her completely...

...and now, she was climbing toward orgasm so rapidly...and was about to explode so brutally...and she was very aware that there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it.

And that terrified her.

"Oh, God...oh God...oh please I'm...I can't! Adele, no!" she begged...

...and looking down, I saw how terrified she was...

...and how close she was to exploding so violently...

...but I refused to stop...

...because the force with which she was still thrusting her hips forward, now positively _jamming_ herself against my fingers (so forcefully that I could feel the tip of my index finger repeatedly penetrating her cervix) made it very clear to me what my response to her pleas was supposed to be.

"It's alright," I told her, "I promise that it's going to be oka-"

"No...not like other...not ever!" she gasped. "Oh, God!

"Oh, God, Adele...h-h-help me!"

And so, leaning back down, I pinned her upper body under my own...

...so I could be her rock...which she so desperately needed to cling to...

...but almost instantly, I knew that something was wrong: because even as she continued thrusting against my fingers, I could feel that the way she was flinging her arms around my back and holding on as hard as she could...

...was not to orgasm...but to resist.

"No!" she repeated, now practically sobbing, "I c-can't!"

And, immediately, I realized what was going on: that, as badly as she wanted this...

...she was far too scared to let it happen...

...but I also realized that this couldn't continue, either.

It needed to end...right now.

And I needed to be the one to end it for her...

...because she couldn't.

I knew that, right then and there, I had to liberate her...to force her body to release her from this cruel, unbearable prison of mental terror and physical torture.

And so, reaching behind my back with my free hand, I pushed both of her arms up, around my neck and then, struggling up from where I lay against her body, I balanced myself on my knees again, and, with my fingers still moving rapidly inside her, I said, "Emma...open your eyes."

She didn't.

"Open your eyes," I repeated...

...but, in response, she shook her head.

"Emma," I insisted, "I want you to open your eyes - right now - and look down...at what I'm wearing."

"No, I...I c-can't!"

"Emma! Open your eyes!" I demanded...

...and, finally, she did...

...and, obediently and fearfully, she looked up into mine...

...but only for a moment...

...because, instantly sliding my free hand under her head...

...and tilting it forward...

...I held it _firmly_ in that position...

...forcing her to look down at my lower body...

and, with satisfaction, I watched her eyes widen...

...and heard her gasp...loudly and raggedly...

...as the sight, which had enflamed her at the very beginning of this encounter, now propelled her savagely forward...and then flung her – with astonishing velocity – all the way over the edge...

...forcing her to come a third time...

...so violently that, as she lost the last last shred of control over her body, she began to scream...

...and to cry uncontrollably...

...as the countless, vicious spasms that erupted from her core ripped mercilessly through her...

...in every direction...

...until, after what I swear had been no less than four full minutes, her body finally stilled...except for her still-shaking shoulders.

Wrapping my arms around her, I rolled over onto my back, and let her lie on top of me...

...feeling the river of hot tears that coursed across my chest, while I stroked her back and let her cry herself quiet.

Finally, her body stilled completely...

...and, tangling her hands in my hair, she whispered a single word.

"Adele."

I'm not sure how we lay there, but eventually she was wrapping her arms so weakly around my neck and whispering how much she loved me as I got both of us to our feet; and then lifted her back into the shower, where, a second later I had joined her, supporting her exhausted - but finally emancipated - body in my arms.

Leaning back against the shower wall, I shifted my gaze downward...

...taking one long last, lingering look at her in her damp panties...and feeling one last surge of desire deep within myself...before I finally pulled them off.

Where I lay now, breathing quickly and shallowly, I shuddered; very aware - without even needing to look into a mirror - that my entire face was flushed deep red with the memory.

My God...

...that encounter had been the hottest thing ever...

...and in more ways than one, I thought, kicking the covers off and then dragging my nightshirt over my head.

However, there was no more time to reminisce. It was time to try again, I realized, before I lost my nerve...

...and if what I'd just remembered couldn't get me off now, then nothing could...

...and so, holding that vivid memory - every single element of it - in my mind with a vise-like grip...

...I slid my hand back inside my own underpants, eagerly, seeking the spot.

To my utter relief, my clitoris responded instantly...

...with a sharp, fast twitch...

...which was soon followed by a second, lesser one...

...but then...nothing...

...and a second later, as I watched, helplessly - _and to my horror_ - I saw my memory of the seemingly-unforgettable afternoon that I'd shared with Emma...which I'd just cultivated so carefully...

...and so painstakingly...

...and held onto so tightly...

...now began fading at an alarming rate, as it fell away from the forefront of my consciousness, receding rapidly into the back...

...leaving me with nothing...

...nothing but an empty bed, and a lifeless, useless, former pleasure-point between my legs.

I threw my right forearm across my mouth to keep from screaming.

In the two years since our break-up, despite my frequent, frantic efforts, nothing had been able to make me cum...

...and now, I'd even lost this memory, I realized, as I watched the last vestiges of it evaporate...

...completely.

Seconds later, I was frantically trying to recreate it in my mind...

...but the momentary, hazy, blur of blue that I finally managed to conjure up quickly faded to flat black...its edges blending indistinguishably into the utter blackness of my bedroom.

No! My mind screamed.

This isn't happening...because I won't let it! I have to have an orgasm...right now!

_I have to!_

And, immediately applying much more pressure to the left side of my clitoris...

...way too much...

...I began shoving my fingers against it, while shoving my hips back toward them, every bit as hard...

...while frantically trying again to remember that encounter with Emma...

_...any of it..._

...and now silently begging my body for any sort of response...

...but, try as I might, my anxious, frenzied efforts resulted in nothing but more numbness and frustration...and, eventually, soreness.

Finally, very near tears, not only from the considerable pain that I felt between my legs...

...but also from an equally-painful spot nearly two feet above it...I stopped.

It was over.

All of it.

Despite everything that I'd just been through, I barely noticed that I was now way beyond exhausted...

...because that was eclipsed by a far more compelling emotion: my terror at the knowledge that, no matter how hard I tried, I was now absolutely unable to orgasm again...

...probably forever.

Never again would I be able to find momentary solace in its desperately-needed physical release.

No longer was a way to drain my chronically-overloaded muscles of their increasingly unbearable burden of accumulated stress.

Emma is gone...forever...I thought, not only from my life...

...but she's now also so far from my memory that I can't even be with her in my fantasies.

And that realization is killing me.

But because of – or maybe despite – my agony, I did know one thing for sure:

That it was now time for me to give up.

No matter how brutal the reality, I now had to accept it...completely.

Somehow.

But even though I knew I was never going back to the park, I still desperately wanted one thing more: If only I could just see her one last time...just take one last look at her face..then I would never try to see her again.

Just one last look...and nothing more.

Just one...and then I'd walk away...forever.

I swear.

Oh, God, I wanted to do this! So badly! But, despite my longing, I was well aware that I couldn't go back to the park...

...ever again...

...because I'd already promised myself that I wouldn't.

And, besides, what would be the point? I asked myself. You know for a fact that she's not going to be there anyway. I've been keeping vigil there...for five days. If she wanted to see me...at all...she would have come back.

But then again, I want- "_Damn It!_

"_God-Mother-Fucking-Damn-It!_

"Why can't I let this g-no...I AM going to let it go, because it's going to stop...right here and right now!"

In frustration, I slammed my head back against my pillow.

I couldn't go on living my life this way.

This had to stop.

Immediately.

But, then again...it's only one last look...that's such a small request...and one that would mean so much to-

No!

I can't put myself through that again...for nothing!

I'm not going back...

...and nothing can make me...

...even though I want to...so badly...because what if tomorrow is the day?

What if she's there...and I'm not?

But, what if..."STOP IT! JUST STOOOOOP IT!" I yelled aloud...

...but, try as I might, I couldn't...

...and, still deeply conflicted, I got up and went to the bathroom to wash my hands. There was no need to wash between my legs or to change my underpants...

...because, to my dismay – and, even worse, to my shame - I was still completely dry.

Turning the faucet on, I stood, turning the bar of soap over and over in my hands, until it disintegrated into a ball of mush...but I barely noticed...

...because, despite my former resolve to never go back, I still wavered...endlessly.

No, I finally told myself.

It hurts too much.

Besides, she was only there that one time...for one reason...and it _wasn't_ to see you.

And, despite all your wishes to the contrary, you know that.

Otherwise, she would have come back within the next 3 or 4 or 5 days...even if it was way over on the other side of the lake.

But she didn't...

...which can only mean one thing: that her being there had been only a coincidence. You know that Emma always carries her sketch book around...and that artists often like to work in seclusion...so the reason she was all the way over there is because she wanted solitude...because she wanted to be able to focus on her work without being interrupted constantly, by countless people looking over her shoulder and asking endless questions while she sketched.

She wanted to be alone...

...the same way she would sometimes hole up in the studio at our (former) home for hours on end.

Now, obviously, she had wanted to get away from a noisy household, with kiddie cartoons playing in the background, and work in silence.

But then again, if that were the only reason she had gone over there...then why hadn't she stayed?

After all, she hadn't been there for more than three minutes.

Easy question to answer, Adele: as soon as she saw you, she wanted to get the hell out of there...ASAP.

Stop fighting the truth; she was there for one reason...and one reason only: because she wanted solitude...and, within minutes, I ruined that for her...completely.

And now, I'll never see her there again...

...not unless I..."NO!

"I just can't do this anymore!"

Convinced that I was completely losing my mind, it was obvious that there was only one course of action I could now take: Grabbing onto both sides of my bathroom sink with a vise-like grip, I leaned far, far forward, toward my mirror, until my nose was nearly touching the glass...

...and yelled, "You're never going back there, Adele...do you hear me? _**NEVER!"**_

Less than an hour later, I caved.

Having completely giving up on the idea of falling asleep, I'd grabbed a random book from one of the teetering piles on my highboy dresser, and sitting up in bed, I'd opened it to some page near the middle, and started to read...

...but, a minute later, I realized that I'd just read the same sentence at least seven times, and it still wasn't registering...

...because I _could not_ get her out of my head.

And so, too tired to continue fighting the urge, I finally surrendered to it.

Completely.

Even though Emma probably wasn't going to return, ever, I realized that I needed closure.

Now.

And so, disregarding the stern lecture I'd just subjected myself to, I made a deal with myself.

One last visit to the park.

One last time making myself crazy.

One last time...and that's it.

One last visit, lasting only thirty minutes – and not a second longer - and then, I would stoically accept my fate...

...whatever it might be.

And then, somehow, I would find a way to force myself to deal with it.

Solemnly committing to this plan, I tossed my book onto the floor next to my bed...

...just as a flash of lightening crackled past the outside of my night-blackened windowpane.

Oh, great...just what I need.

An impending thunderstorm.

Always a bad omen.

Ignoring it, I set my alarm anyway, then switched off my table lamp and closed my eyes...

...and then, somehow, I managed to pass out...

...but awoke the next morning to a horrifying sight: During the night, the storm had temporarily knocked my power out...

...and I opened my eyes to my alarm clock flashing 12:00...12:00...12:00...in a most ominous way.

Highly anxious, I snatched my watch off the nightstand.

SHIT!

I should have been up thirty minutes ago!

Jumping out of bed, I staggered - nearly falling on my face, due to the sheet that was tangled around my legs.

Kicking it off, I stumbled groggily, yet quickly, toward the bathroom.

"It's okay, all of it; everything's going to be okay!" I told myself (without a shred of conviction) as I took the world's fastest shower.

Five minutes later, and barely dry, I was running frantically down the hallway and into my bedroom, while shoving my roll-on deodorant under each arm.

Flinging it aside, I yanked my underwear drawer open...

...and, less than a minute later, snatching a shirt and jeans off the top of my basket of clean laundry, I dressed myself with lightening-speed.

With no time for socks, I jammed my feet into sneakers - not bothering to tie them - grabbed my keys from the tray on my dresser, seized my backpack, and, seconds later, burst through my front door.

Listening to my feet as they pounded the sidewalk, I tore down the street, and straight toward the park...

...but, by the time I had reached only the first corner, my gait had slowed...to a snail's pace...

...because, suddenly, I was terrified.

Of what was going to (probably not) happen.

So now, despite running late, I was walking slowly, apprehensively...

...far too afraid to confront the truth...

...and so anxiously oblivious that I walked - without even realizing it - right past the cafe.

To hell with the tea, I told myself, without even a backward glance; I have no time for it anyway.

And, today, absolutely no interest.

Only two minutes later, and with less than two blocks remaining between me and the park, my anxiety finally overwhelmed my apprehension...

...and, suddenly, my tentative, nervous steps were steadily hastening...

until, breaking into a run, I rounded the final street corner between me and my destination...

...and, tearing down the street...and already looking across the lake the before I even entered the park...

...I flung myself through its wrought-iron gates...

...then, sprinting right past my empty bench, I ran, breathless, down toward the water's edge.


End file.
